Early in our parenting journey, my partner and I naturally fell into our distinct roles—ones that have remained pretty consistent over time. As the primary caregiver, I’m well-versed in our children’s routines, quirks, and preferences. I’m the one who sets bedtimes, determines if dessert is deserved, and keeps track of any lost screen time. My partner, meanwhile, excels at spinning the kids around, engaging them in video games, and diving into exuberant role-playing adventures like “Airplane Zoo Driver” (trust me, it’s as wild as it sounds).
When my partner is out of town, the atmosphere shifts dramatically. The kids snuggle up with him in our bed, organize indoor volleyball matches, and engage in endless tickle fights. In contrast, when he’s away, things carry on as normal. Bedtime is strictly upheld (in their own beds), homework is completed before any screen time, and for the most part, our kids find their own entertainment. In essence, I’m the one who doesn’t engage in play as much.
Initially, I struggled with these contrasting roles of the “fun parent” and the “other parent.” I didn’t resent being the responsible one, but societal pressures and self-expectations made me feel inferior for not being the one who plays. I often felt that my lack of enthusiasm for rough-and-tumble play was a flaw, leading me to question my parenting abilities. Who wouldn’t want to join in the fun with their kids? I felt this nagging pressure to be a more playful, enjoyable parent—one who could match the energy of the fun-loving dad.
Recently, however, I’ve come to embrace my unique parenting style. While I may be the one to announce, “bedtime in five minutes!” while the boys are engrossed in a laugh-inducing episode of their favorite show, I happily join in for a round of Just Dance, spend hours coloring, or endure back-to-back games of Candy Land.
I’ve discovered a profound joy in stepping back and watching my kids play without feeling the need to join in. Just the other night, after picking up my partner from the airport, the boys eagerly asked him to play hockey in the driveway. The air was chilly, and the sky was veiled in twilight.
“It’s too cold and dark and late,” I suggested.
“Awwww, really?” my partner replied, feigning disappointment.
“I was just trying to give you an out so you could settle in,” I whispered, “but go ahead if you want.”
Once home, I started reheating some leftovers while my partner changed into comfy clothes and headed back outside. As I heated dinner (and covered it up again since it was clear that mealtime was still a ways off), I watched through the window. I contemplated joining them outside but instead opted to observe from a distance.
From this vantage point, I noticed things I might miss if I jumped into their fun. I saw how my younger son gazed at his dad with awe and admiration, and how my older son explored his boundaries in a way he didn’t with me. I also got to witness the pure joy radiating from my partner’s face without having to act as referee or authority figure.
It was refreshing, like soothing lotion on sunburned skin.
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In summary, embracing the role of the ‘less exciting’ parent can lead to unexpected joys and deeper connections with your children. By observing their interactions and giving them space to bond with their other parent, you may discover new dimensions to your family life that you never realized existed.